


The Darkest Writings While in the Dungeon

by SmolandAngry



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 01:23:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11475663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmolandAngry/pseuds/SmolandAngry
Summary: This is a collection of writing for the game Darkest Dungeon. Some of it is sad, other parts are happy and who knows, maybe there will be a few chapters of smut, but at the moment it is just a few pages of things that I think should happen during camp outs, at the hamlet and during battles. This is a series of short stories about various characters from the game (none of which I own and all copyright goes to the developer/s).





	1. Author's note

As I mentioned in the summary, this is a collection of works that is ongoing and will constantly be updated. Most of this is going to be pretty sad and as I was reading through these works, I realized that most of these are going to have some very tricky subjects that most are not able to read fro whatever reason and I respect that, so I am going to put a brief description along with the titles below as well as how if they have any sensitive material. If you happen to read any of these (as there is no particular order) and notice that I left something out of the warnings, please let me know and I will change that as soon as I get the chance. Thank you for taking your time to not only read this pre-work entry, but also for reading through my writing. I spend about three days on each one (if its a particularly productive day) and it makes every hour I put into these worth it when I see that view number go up. So, again, thank you for reading this and I hope you enjoy it!

 

1\. A Momentary Abatement

_Safe For Work_

Word count: 2,235

DEPICTIONS OF GORE, MENTIONS OF DEATH, MENTION OF SELF PAST SELF-HARMING (Leper), ENCOURAGEMENT AND REMINDERS, SELF-LOATHING (Vestal), STRESS INDUCED PARANOIA (Vestal), . Leper/Vestal (platonic)

     The vestal, Alis, has just lost one of her closest friends while in the treacherous cove. The Leper, Carbonel, offers some comfort before the next series of battles that is sure to come.


	2. A Momentary Abatement (Platonic Vestal x Leper)

It was late; the fire had become nothing but embers and smoke.

He sat quietly, moving only when his sitting position got uncomfortable. The old, durable mask that he wore everyday, even while in the Hamlet, was off and it was visible, even through the shadows, that he was a little worse for wear. Various scars that had healed a long time ago made his features almost indistinguishable. He was a leper; a fighter and a protector built like a tank that cared little for physical wounds and had the demeanor to match. 

He never talked much, never showed any sort of strain on his mental health or physical, regardless of his very apparent ailment. One may have trouble describing him as either stalwart or solemn; the line was very thin. Even back at the Hamlet he was silent, focusing only on his work and sharpening his blade, perhaps entering the brothel for the odd chance at pleasure. She was shocked he wasn’t sharpening the giant and broken thing now, considering the only pleasures are out here are those that come from victory. He knew all too well that a shape blade meant all the difference between life and death. Perhaps he did not want wake anyone; rest provided a break from the horrors that marched through the coves.

It had been a hard day with seemingly endless battles against beasts that she could not name and would never want to encounter again. Needless to say, it had been both emotionally and physically exhausting for everyone. It was starting to become apparent that this quest might not end; a hapless venture dripping in blood. 

There would be talk throughout the Hamlet; talk that she could not bare to listen to. It was bad enough that they had lost a friend and would return with three companions (less if things continued the way they did), but she doubted that she would last very long in a place where people speak of your failings with the same vigor as they would about a wedding. She would likely suffer the same fate as her companion.

Demetrius had been a kind, lighthearted highwayman and a close friend of hers, in fact, they arrived a the hamlet on the same day. But, he had been different here in the cove; silent, terrified of every sound they came across. It was during what would be his final battle that he lost all faith in escaping the stress of it; lost all hope of escaping the musky and damp cove. He was on death's door and... he refused healing, saying that he wasn’t worth healing; wasn’t worth saving. She was standing right there, unable to do anything when the final blow was dealt.

Images of what had transpired came back to her in an instant. A slimy, blue tentacle ripped through his torso, nearly hitting her in the face and spraying his blood over her. It twisted itself free and she watched in slow motion as his body fell to the floor limp. As if that wasn’t enough, the rest of the fiends wanted to get to her and in order to do that, they needed to go through him. After stunning the others, they came for her, slicing through him like butter, leaving little evidence that he had originally been a human.

She had demanded that they bury him properly and put him to rest, but the _leper_ insisted that it would be hard to put someone to rest when there was hardly anything there that _could_ be put to rest. After that, she had stopped speaking and couldn’t look anyone in the eyes. She was afraid they would see into her and use this loss to their advantage, manipulating her into their own, twisted creation; something they could use as a weapon. There was no way she would let them use her as such. She didn’t want to be a weapon; she wanted to be with her friend.

They didn’t protect him. They should have protected him. If they had, none of this would have happened and she would still have her friend and not to mention most of her sanity still intact.

“You should be asleep. A good nights rest will help you over come your trauma.” His voice was what ripped her from her self loathing. A low, thickly accented thing that was common in the northern regions; somewhat hard to understand, but still, just as intimidating as his stature. It was a voice that inspired hate in her.

She opened her eyes, not realizing they had been closed, nor did she realize that she had curled into a ball and nearly pulled her hair out. “Was this was trauma did to you?” She thought, slowly stretching out her body into a comfortable position. Many people had passed before her eyes, most of which asking for her to revive or give help to an ailing loved one, but none had been brought to this state of mind. Perhaps that was because they had someone to protect their loved ones and everyone around her was just as weak as her, weaker even.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched him put his mask back on, then looked away. He reminded her of Demetrius and what they could had done to save him; worst of all, he reminded her of what she should have done to help her friend. A shiver coursed through her body as she heard the clinking of metal grow near. He was coming over.

He sat down next to her with a thump. The other one with them (a tall, thin hellion whom she couldn’t remember the name of) stirred, but refused to wake up yet, clearly still exhausted from today.

 Despite the fact that she was not facing him and despite his hideous mask, she could feel his eyes on her; watching closely. She lay down and rolled over, hoping that would make his eyes move elsewhere.

“I know what you have been through, little one. I have seen many of my own companions suffer the same fate, but know that he did not die in vain,” his words, as sincere as they were, meant nothing to her. The only words that would mean anything were gone, along with her friend and they were never coming back. She found herself curling into a ball again, trying to choke down tears that were destined to come.

“You know nothing,” she mumbled harshly through gritted teeth. “If you _had_ known anything, you would have known how to save my friend!” The words felt bitter in her mouth and she had to bite her lip to keep from saying them.

“To you, perhaps,” he seemed unfazed, as if he had heard it all before. As a leper, he probably had and much, much worse. “I know that you loved Demetrius very much and that it will be hard to get over his passing, but I would like to remind you that we still need a healer. You cannot give up because he did.”

“And why is that?” Her words were full of spite and venom. She sat up, kneeling forward and shoving her hands into the dirt for balance. She looked directly at where his eyes would have been if not for the thing on his face. “I couldn’t care less whether any of you live or die! You allowed him to fall, none of you blinked an eye when he refused healing. You didn’t even try to talk some sense into him, you just watched! And let’s not forget how easily you all fell! The enemy saw a fault in our line that shouldn’t have been there; a fault that cost the life of my friend, _Carbonel._ ”

He said nothing. Didn’t move; it looked as though he stopped breathing. She tried to mimic his undeterred stance.

 “Alis,” he said finally. The words were soft; patient even, but Alis would have none of it.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare say my name-” she inched closer to him “-you are not worthy enough to say my name. You are no better than the fiends that prowl these lands.”

Carbonel sighed and looked away from her, shifting so she was blocked by his arm. “Very well then. If you will not be consoled, can you, perhaps, sleep for once? You will wake the other one, then you will have more to worry about than a funeral for a friend.”

Alis retreated from him, folding her arms over her chest and pulling her cloak closer. “Damn these halls and their aching cold”, she thought to herself. Again, she could feel his eyes on her.

“You know, if you are cold, there is no shame in-”

“Don’t speak to me,” she demanded. “You might wake everyone up and then you will have more to worry about than an angry vestal on your hands.” Her tone was mocking, full of disdain. All he did was laugh.

“At least I know you were listening, that’s something, is it not?” Alis stayed silent, curling up more. “Look, you miss him, yes? I understand that. You forget that he had more friends than just you. I know the pain. You are scared of what your life will be like while he is gone; afraid of what may happen, what he will miss. I fear that too, but doesn’t that give you a reason to wake up every morning, see what he would have seen; fight in his name?”

After a few minutes of painful silence, she asked him quietly: “how many?”

“How many what?”

“How many have you lost?” She uncurled again, turning to look him in the eyes. “You mentioned having lost people in the past, how many?”

He stared at her curiously through the slits in his mask. Slowly, he pulled his gloved off, placing them on the ground gently. She watched him place his hands on her knees, trying to mask the horror and disgust she felt building up inside her along with bile.

On his hands were boiling red blisters that varied in size and colour. Some of them looked as though they were about to burst. She covered her mouth, trying to keep everything from coming up. It was hard to imagine what may come out of those blisters without vomiting.

“Do you see the scars?” She could. In between some of the blisters were pale scars, small in size but large in numbers, she was able to count about 20 before having to look away. “These I accumulated over the past few years, I have all but stopped now, but each of those is a life I could not save in time. I left my home to become the hero that everyone needed. I joined armies, guarded towns; protected people. I thought those were the jobs I was meant to have, yet over time, I saw vast scores of innocent people die without anyone to save them. After seeing so much death, I thought I had failed them; failed to keep my word as a protector. I set out on my own, searching for redemption. I realize now that I was naive, I thought everyone could be saved and these scars are proof that I couldn’t.”

“I’m sorry, can you...” as if reading her mind, he put his hands back into their gloves. He put her hands into his own softly and began massaging circles into them. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. When she was calm enough, he continued.

“Not every life can be saved, you need to understand this, but that is no reason for you to stop living. Your friend lives on around you just as mine live on around me. They are in our hearts, forever. When we die, they die with us and I know you don’t want to watch that happen again.” He stopped, allowing her to process what was said. “Look at me-” he lifted her chin “-you blame us for what happened, you have every right to, but you also have a right to help us get home safely. You scratch our backs, we scratch yours, yes?”

“Right,” she sounded almost defeated. Deep down, she knew that Carbonel was right, but the pit in her stomach and the hole in her heart would not let this go. He let go of her hands, satisfied in making the vestal calm, or calmer than before. He moved back, watching the last of the embers die out with the tension. “Does it get any easier? Loosing people, I mean.”

“No, I am afraid not. But I have always thought that it is better if it hurts, because when it doesn’t, you feel nothing at all. I would rather feel anything than feel nothing at all.”

Again, Alis found herself unable to do anything else; thwarted by the kind words of someone she thought a stranger. She touched the wraps on his arms gently. The fabric was wet with blood and other bodily fluids. She thought of the extra bandages she had stashed in her robes; changing his was the least she could do.

“May I-” she laughed brokenly “-may I do my job and heal you? Perhaps change these; they look rather old.”

 From under the mask, she could see him smile for the first time. “Yes, you may, but only if you feel up to it. My arms are a lot worse than my hands.”

“Well, let’s change that, shall we?”


End file.
